HORSHAM’S Tom Dunn, 20, is paddle boarding along the Condamine, Balonne, Culgoa, Darling and Murray rivers to raise money for Deaf Children Australia. He is providing the Mail-Times with a diary of his journey. This is the third instalment.
THE world is dark and asleep.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
The moon shines above, yet in the far east I can see the horizon is beggining to change colour.
The air is heavy and humid, but a small breeze, no more than a breath, is welcome after a night of tossing and turning in the heat.
The breeze lifts the scent of water from the river.
Combined with the humidity it reminds me of a thunderstorm from what feels like a lifetime ago; before this challenge.
I half step, half slide my way down the loose sand that covers the steep banks of the Darling River.
As I reach the waters edge my final step squelches deep in mud, my footing gives way beneath me, and I slide down into the inky black Darling.
My river boots fill with cool water, a sweet feeling, and I let myself slide further washing away the layer of sweat on my legs from the night before.
I climb onto my board and send a wave of ripples across the river, wincing as they lap on the far bank.
In the pre-dawn calm these small ripples sound like huge waves crashing on a beach and I feel guilty for breaking the silence.
Sitting on the board I push off the bank and drift into the middle of the river.
I'm facing east, the wrong direction to paddle, but for a moment I let myself forget about paddling and just take in the view.
I sit with the board between my legs, feet in the water and watch as the sun comes up.
For the first time in days, or weeks, or maybe more, I feel cool and relaxed.
The last 57 days seem to have become a blur of sweat and aches.
I could happily stay in this moment for a long time, maybe because it's peaceful, maybe because I know what’s ahead of me today.
The light grows gradually stronger.
I'm aware that each moment that passes is another wasted.
The chance to paddle in cool conditions gone.
Another moment longer that I'll have to spend in the heat later today, though right now I'm not sure that I care.
Finally a sleepy chuckle from a nearby kookaburra breaks my trance and I accept that I need to get moving.
I take a quick photo to mark the time, stand up, turn the board around, and start paddling.
My left shoulder crunches as it breaks through yesterdays stiffness but I ignore that and instead focus on the gentle ripple from nose of the board as it cuts through water.
Birds start to sing their morning song yet the river remains still.
A while later I feel the first rays of sunlight on my back.
A few ducks fly past and the day is a new one.
The world is awake and moving again and I'm officially racing the clock.
With 65km to paddle and temperatures set to reach 40 degrees once again, I'm likely to be paddling from dawn to dusk and need to get moving.
It's not long until I break a sweat, a few hours in and I'm covered.
It stings my eyes, but I can't wipe it away.
My arms are sweat covered too, and I don't want break my paddling rhythm.
Eight hours in and now in the heat of the day, my mouth is dry and sticky.
The water in my bag is so hot that it's unpleasant to drink.
Despite being incredibly thirsty, the feeling of thirst is easier than the thought of stomaching hot water.
I ball what saliva I can manage and attempt to rinse my mouth, waiting for the day and my water to cool down.
Twelve hours in and I know I must be getting close.
The sun, now in front of me, is starting to sink below the river banks. The river looks so similar to where I began that for a moment I wonder if I've actually gone anywhere.
I'm drenched in sweat and the flies won't leave me alone, all I want is to finish the day.
I round the next bend and see the bridge that marks my finish point.
Relief washes over me and mentally I relax a little, until my knees buckle, nearly sending me into the water.
As I reach the bridge, I sit with my board between my legs, feet in the water and watch as the sun begins to go down.
Today is a blur of sweat and aches, but it's also a personal best.
As I sit in the shallows I'm proud of how far I paddled. I let one moment pass, then another.
I feel that I could stay in this moment too, but if I stay too long in this one, I'll never get to experience the next.
To follow the journey go to facebook.com/SUP4DCA or justgiving.com.au/sup4dca to donate.